another game, mummy shouted, 'Stay with me,' over the uproar of the machines, as if Anna were trying to escape. Anna felt depressed again. 'I don't want to go on anything else,' she said miserably.
Mummy's lips went thin, and she didn't speak until they were outside. 'Well, what do you want to do?'
Anna heard the warning note in her voice, but she didn't care. 'I wanted to make things for Rebecca.'
Mummy glared at her as if she'd been forbidden to mention Rebecca. 'We're here now. What do you want to do here?'
'I don't know.' The way mummy was, Anna was too depressed to care what she said. 'Nothing.'
'Then you'll just have to do what I want to do,' mummy said – but she seemed not to know what that was. She stared about at the beach and the piers, the model village, the Maritime Museum. 'For a start, let's get away from all these people.'
It took them a long time to struggle through the crowds, and she could feel that mummy was growing more tense. At. last they reached the river quays, where there were fewer holidaymakers. Barges rocked gently in front of the Town Hall, the smell of fish drifted along the river wharf. Now that there was room to stroll along the broad quay, mummy was relaxing, so much so that she let go of Anna's arm. As far as Anna was concerned, it was too late. She felt depressed and bewildered and bored. She didn't understand mummy at all.
That was how she felt when they came to Haven Bridge, and that was why she thought of something naughty to do. A ship was coming down the river, and she knew that the bridge would have to lift up its halves to let the ship through. If she timed it right, she could be on the other side and mummy wouldn't be able to get to her. She wasn't going to run away, she only wanted those few minutes away from mummy. Mummy was making her feel like a dog on a leash.
As the ship sailed toward the point at which they would lift the bridge, she quickened her pace, ready to run – but then mummy grabbed her arm. Just because she no longer knew what mummy was thinking, she shouldn't have assumed that the opposite was true. 'Oh no, you don't,' mummy said, in a voice like a saw. 'That's enough for one day, miss.'
'You're hurting me.' Anna began to cry. 'You're hurting my arm.' But mummy didn't let go until she'd dragged her back to the car, all that way through the crowds. Anna's arm hurt dreadfully, worse than when she'd fallen off the top of the climbing frame at the nursery. The worst thing was the way people laughed as they saw mummy dragging her along, as if that was the proper way to treat her. They didn't know that mummy was never like this.
Mummy held on to her while she unlocked the door. She threw the driver's seat forward and shoved Anna into the gap. Anna baulked, for she'd seen the letter still propped on the dashboard. Just now it seemed her only friend. She reached for it with her throbbing arm; she'd seen a postbox at the corner of the car park. 'I'll post your letter, mummy,' she said.
'No, you won't.' Mummy leaned in, still holding onto her, and snatched the letter. She must think Anna was going to play another trick, though nothing could have been further from Anna's mind. She ran to keep up with mummy – she wanted to anyway, though the grip on her arm gave her no choice – as mummy hurried toward the postbox. Auntie Barbara would come to stay, she would help mummy stop worrying, help her get better. She was mummy's best friend.
As mummy stepped out of the car park, tugging Anna's arm even though she was hurrying, she turned away from the postbox. For a moment Anna thought she hadn't seen it, then she realized what mummy was going to do. She could only stand there feeling sick as mummy let go of her for long enough to tear up the letter to Barbara and throw the pieces in the nearest wastebin.
Thirty
Liz drove home from Yarmouth feeling surer of herself than she'd felt for days. Dark clouds were crawling above the fields, toward the sea, but the darkness couldn't touch her. She could hardly believe how much destroying the letter had helped. When she thought of the letters, that one as much as the ones she'd rejected, she cringed inwardly. How could she have allowed herself to become so hysterical? She couldn't even recall now why she'd been so desperate to invite Barbara. She'd let everything get on top of her, that was all. No, not everything – just Anna.
That made her feel calmer, as if her problems were capable of being solved. Of course Anna was disturbed by all that had been happening, but there was a limit to the allowances that could be made for her, the liberties she could take. What had she been doing the night Alan had chased her along the beach? Perhaps Liz had been looking at that incident the wrong way. When she glanced at Anna in the mirror, at her untypically secretive eyes, she was almost sure she had.
The blackened road veered back and forth like smoke beneath the crawling sky, the verges glowed luridly. A phone box stood beside a deserted stretch of road – a red oblong rooted in the streaming supine grass. As the door of the empty box creaked open in the wind, Liz heard the phone ringing, ringing. It reminded her of the anonymous call, but that didn't bother her so much now; the voice must have been disguised – it must have been one of the people who were spreading rumours about her; perhaps the caller was the source of all the gossip. Now she was trying to scare Liz away for whatever warped reason an anonymous caller might have. She must have heard that
Alan had been with Anna the night the child had fled to the hotel – that was why she'd accused him. The call was another reason to doubt that he had done anything to Anna. Anna was rubbing her arm where Liz had held it, rubbing as if the pain would never fade. Liz was sure she hadn't held her that hard. If Anna was exaggerating that, why not Alan's behaviour that night as well?
The house was catching the last of the sunlight before the sky closed up. It looked unreal against the gathering dark. As Liz dragged the garage door into place, she wondered if the child would try to flee from her as she'd run away from Alan. But Anna went reluctantly into the house, into her playroom. That wouldn't save her from answering the questions Liz was determined to ask.
Anna stayed out of the way while Liz made dinner. Didn't that prove she had something to hide? When she ventured into the kitchen to pour herself an orange juice, wincing as she used the arm she wanted Liz to think was injured, her movements sounded clumsy, intrusive, far too loud. That was because the house was empty – empty of Alan. Liz had to make an effort to restrain herself from blurting out her questions.
As soon as they sat down to dinner, she said, 'Anna, I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth.'
'All right,' Anna mumbled through a mouthful of salad.
Liz waited until the child had finished her mouthful; she wasn't about to give her an excuse not to answer. 'What did you do that night I went to the party at the hotel?'
Anna stared blankly at her. 'Nothing,' she said, forking up another mouthful.
'It won't go cold. Leave it until we've finished talking,' Liz said, and the echo told her how loud her voice was. 'What did you do to make daddy chase you out of the house?'
'I didn't do anything.'
Her blank stare, and the forkful of food she was still holding, infuriated Liz. 'Put that down and answer me.
Anyone would think you were starving as well as everything else I'm supposed to be doing to you.' She glared at Anna until the fork dropped onto her plate. 'Don't ask me to believe that daddy chased you all the way to the hotel for no reason. What had you been doing?'
'I was asleep. He woke me up.'
She looked tearful and hurt, but Liz wasn't to be put off. 'And then what happened?'
'He frightened me.'
'How?'
Anna gaped at her as if the question were meaningless. Liz felt her fury growing. 'I'm asking you a question, Anna. What did he do to frighten you?'
Anna's eyes were blank again. She was silent for a while, then she said, 'He just did.'
Liz felt as if she should have known it all along: Anna had fled for no reason, Alan had only been trying to
